Goodnight, Mommy

The cold sweat on her palm threatened her grip on the knife. Still, she crept forward. The boy sat unawares, crouched on his knees, his hands and face pressed against the terrarium glass. The snake inside slithered toward the fresh mouse. He’d always been fascinated by snakes. It was his father who’d finally relented and bought him one as a pet. The boy never forgot to feed it, or check its water. She would often find him with hands splayed against the glass, hoping to catch the rare uncoiling. Fresh food was always the most effective method of drawing the snake into movement. Her son loved it. His breath clouded the glass as he watched the snake inch its way toward the unfortunate rodent. He was too enraptured to notice his mother’s shadow creeping over him. She clutched the knife’s wooden handle tighter still as she raised it above her head. She threw all of her weight into the thrust. Her aim was perfect, bringing the sharp point to bear just between his spine and his left shoulder blade. The force of the blow reverberated up her arm to her shoulder. The blade of the knife shattered, sending an array of shards out in a glinting firework of steel. She stumbled, but managed to catch herself before she fell directly on top of him. The only evidence of her labors was a tiny hole in the back of his red-striped shirt.

She took a step back and clutched her tingling arm. Slivers of metal clung to his clothes and his hair. A halo of fragments decorated the floor. Slowly, the boy stood. She held her breath as he turned, expecting the scared and confused eyes of a child. How many times had she wiped tears from those eyes? The expression that greeted her instead was cold and dark. Accusing. 

“Oh, Mommy. Why did you do that?” 

The perennial why. The word that grows so wearisome for parents who’ve heard it a few hundred times too many. But this didn’t bear the innocent curiosity of a probing child. It dripped with the impatient displeasure of a disappointed parent. She found herself taking halting steps backward. 

“What are you?” The question barely escaped the tightness in her chest. Her back bumped into the door frame, and she fumbled behind her to confirm the location of the doorway. A stumbling step to the side bought her freedom from the boy’s bedroom, but no respite from his unblinking gaze.

The boy wrinkled his nose and giggled. “Silly mommy, I’m your son.” His soft footfalls matched her pace as she backed farther down the hall.

“No,” she whispered back. “I don’t know when you took his place, but you’re not my little baby. You’re not my sweet boy.”

He tilted his head. “But I came out of your belly. Don’t you remember? It was hailing.”

She swallowed. “Who told you that? Did Daddy tell you that?”

He finally stopped his pursuit and tapped a finger on his chin. “Um, I don’t remember who told me it was hail.” His inflection rose as though it was a question. “I just remember it was loud. I was afraid it would be loud forever. I didn’t want to live somewhere so loud.”

The wall opened up beside her, splashing her with the bright light from the vanity mirror. She dove inside and threw the door closed behind her. Her trembling hand struggled to turn the lock, but she succeeded and drew a breath. What now? It was an internal room and didn’t have any windows. Her husband wouldn’t be home for hours. She jumped at the musical sound of her son’s voice.

“One…two…three…”

Tears ran down her cheeks. She threw open the cabinets, rifled through the towels, foraged through the shower. She ignored the plethora of toiletries that clattered to the floor in her frantic search. Vitamins, toothbrushes, soap. Nothing! What were you hoping to find? The thought teased her. 

“Nineteen…twenty! Ready or not, here I come!”

Silence shrouded her for a moment, torn apart with a bang. The door shuddered. More silence. Another bang. The hinges groaned. The third time she heard the patter of feet on the wood floor before the door exploded inward. She covered her face with her arms as slivers of wood coated the bathroom. When she dared to look, her son stood grinning in the carnage. He bore neither blood nor sweat from the feat. 

“Found you!”

“Yes,” she offered, licking her lips. “You did. Why–why don’t you go hide now and I’ll–I’ll find you.” She retreated as she spoke until she was pressed against the far wall.

“But you were bad, mommy. Bad mommies don’t get to play.” Scraps of wood were crushed to sawdust under his bare feet. One of the tiles fractured and sent a lacework pattern of cracks out from his toes.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, sinking to the floor. “I’m so sorry. It was a mistake. I won’t do it again. Please.”

He stopped inches from her, his gaze even with hers. “Promise?”

A short breath escaped her. “I promise.” The words tumbled out. “I promise. Mommy will be good. I can be a good mommy.”

Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. He sniffled. “You scared me, mommy.” His lower lip quivered. Just like the baby she’d birthed. Just like her little boy.

She held her arms out to him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I scared you. Come here.”

He collapsed against her chest and wrapped his spindly arms around her neck. He nuzzled his nose into the curls of her hair. She gently patted the back of his head and started to hum. It was a familiar tune, one she’d sung to him in his crib, but she couldn’t remember the words now. She settled for a hum, hugging him close and caressing his dark hair. At the end of her lullaby, she planted a kiss on the side of his head. He pulled back slightly, just enough to press his own lips against her cheek. It was firm and he held himself there with exaggerated affection. It was warm. It was wet.

It was sharp.

She jerked away, but his scrawny arms clasped tight around her neck. She grabbed his middle as the vicious probing pierced her cheek and started to explore the roof of her mouth. His tiny figure stood heavy as lead against her attempts to pry him off. His arms held as sure as the vise in the garage. She screamed at the tearing that rose up through her soft palette, through her sinuses and into her skull.

Then there was nothing.

She could no longer feel, or taste, or move. The beige floor tiles rushed toward her. She heard the thud when she landed, but there was no pain. Her eyeball pressed against a stray splinter of the door, but she couldn’t close the lid. Darkness crept in from the edge of her vision until that too was gone. Her last memory was the voice of her sweet little boy.

“Goodnight, Mommy.”